Poet

Poet

Poet

Poised on the thin edge of now
like a poleaxed tightrope walker


the past a roaring lion in the underbrush
the future a nuclear mushroom I can\'t swallow


this bare flat table I am sitting at
this blank white page I am looking at


beckon, like the drowning man\'s straw.
Let us bear your dreams any place, some time,
for you.